


A Drop of Mother's Mercy

by ByronicHeroics



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen, M/M, Sibling Incest, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4348742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByronicHeroics/pseuds/ByronicHeroics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb and Jon manage to find themselves in trouble while Ned is away. Lady Catelyn decides that, all things considered, it would probably be best for her to deal with this particular incident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neliore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neliore/gifts).



> This fic was made with no beta reader, because unfortunately, I am lacking kinky GoT fans as friends. Therefore, I thought I should make some by writing kinky stories for the writers who have gifted new fans with plenty of delicious fic to discover on Ao3. :)

It was thankfully late when Lady Catelyn discovered her son’s mischief, the sun just beginning its slow descent in the horizon. She had thought that she would have found Robb still practicing his swordsmanship, but had discovered from Ser Rodrick that Jon and Robb had abandoned their lessons much earlier. Robb had won a truly shocking percent of their matches that day and had demanded some sort of payment on a bet that had sent them back into the castle. It hadn’t taken long to find what they were up to, unfortunately, though it had taken her a good solid moment to process what exactly they were in the middle of doing.

Her son’s hands were tugging tightly on the laces of one of her gowns, trying to get a proper shape out of it on what was obviously not the body of a woman. Catelyn closed the door behind her quickly, to stop any bit of that sight from catching anyone’s eyes who might have passed. Her heart was racing in her chest at the scene, and not for the first time in her life, she found herself wishing that Jon had been sent away long ago. She couldn’t hear what Robb was trying to say to excuse the behavior, but she could tell he was hurrying through all the reasons that this was happening.

“No Stark,” Catelyn had told him cuttingly, because she couldn’t let this slide, not when Robb would be lord of Winterfell. “Should be giving reason for rumors of his...interest in women’s garments to be spread through Westeros. Can you imagine that men would respect a lord who is known for that? The lord who dresses his father’s bastard in his own mother’s clothes?”

Her son’s bright eyes had dropped almost at once; Robb had clearly known before she had ever discovered them that this was something unacceptable but he had done it anyway. He had doubtlessly gotten a kick out of that, thinking that it was oh so funny to see the pretty bastard all dolled up in Lady Stark’s frocks. He had thought that it was harmless, and to some other set of boys, it might very well have been. To these other boys, it might have been worth the giggles and the tittering, and soon enough it would have been forgotten. 

Some other boys would not have chanced being caught by servants.

The bastard was watching her then with the forlorn gaze that was so familiar on his face; he looked so somber and so serious for a boy who had been letting his own half brother force him into skirts. Would that the gods had been so kind as to have made him little Jonna Snow as he now appeared, and perhaps, Catelyn could have forced herself to see something behind that mopey gaze except his persistently sullen temperament. Yet they had not, and all she saw was that sulking gaze that lit the fire of frustration through her.

“Answer me.” Catelyn had demanded.

“No, Mother.” Robb muttered somberly.

Catelyn could have scolded them a bit more, then waited for Ned to return from his trip to punish the boys. She should have done that, perhaps, but she couldn’t help but think how ridiculous the whole situation would become if she were to wait for him to come back. How terribly seriously he would take it, as the model for his children’s manhood, that they were dressing one another in silk gowns. Their little joke would turn more grave than even she took it, and perhaps, it would wound the relationship of all involved more than chastise the boys that this secret had been shared in such a way. No, she couldn’t do that. She had no choice but to deal with this herself and not let the responsibility fall to her husband.

“And you.” Catelyn said to Jon firmly. “What could have possessed you to think it was acceptable to dress in my gowns? Do you simply fancy being ridiculed and teased for a girl?”

“No, my lady.” Jon had said, the laughter from earlier entirely gone from his tone. He had known just as well as Robb how positively indecorous this whole notion was, perhaps, even better than him. Doubtlessly, the boy just wanted his half-brother to share something special with him, to have a giggle between just the two of them, and if he had to take the brunt of the joke to do so then so be it. It was natural, perhaps, for him to long so desperately for some sort of attention but it could hardly be ignored that he’d willingly let another play him for the fool. He was Ned’s son still.

Catelyn came to sit on the edge of the boys’ bed with that thought. “Very well. Robb, you shall be first.” She had decided, and she had pet her knee in explanation. 

Robb’s whole face had fallen when he realized exactly what was meant by that motion. His mother meant to spank them as if they were nothing more than wayward children. It must have felt like so long to him since the last time that she’d been the one to punish his misbehavior that the very option seemed unthinkable. It was really a mere handful of years for her, but then that was was a good portion of life for him. He shook his head ever so slightly, trying to maintain as much dignity as he possibly could. “Mother, you can’t…” He had attempted, to no avail.

“I most certainly can and there will be no more discussion of it, unless you’d prefer to find this much worse than it will already be.” Catelyn declared and her tone left no room for further arguments. His own imagination as to what that meant would do the job for her.

Robb stepped forward finally, slowly and deliberately, as if he was walking to his execution and trying to cling to a shred of his pride by keeping his chin up for it. A flush had already worked its way across his fair complexion, and his expression betrayed the indignation that he felt at this ordeal. How betrayed he felt to have his mother revert him to boyhood in a mere moment. Yet he really was just a boy, and he didn’t realize that it was better to suffer a bit of embarrassment now when it would just be a forgotten boyhood misadventure than continue their game and risk years of mockery should it ever be discovered.

The whole situation must have proved beyond reason for Robb because he simply paused in front of her once he was there. He didn’t want to do what he was meant to and so he dawdled. Catelyn solved the problem for her son, by reaching forward to begin unfastening his pants for him. His hands fell down to cover himself and he gave her a look as if she had double crossed him. “Mother…” He half whined, and she reached out to take him by the arm and tugged him down over her lap. No, she couldn’t have him begging and making her feel bad for this as he’d always managed so well. She couldn’t risk spoiling him with her love.

Robb struggled to quickly find a position that would give him the most support from his hands, trying not to rest himself on her lap too much. He didn’t have much time to adjust his weight, however, because the first slap from his mother captured his attention completely. It was just her hand against his bottom and the impact was obvious; he was more ashamed than he was hurt by the smack. He hid his face against his shoulder but was entirely silent. She offered another smart blow and received the same complete stillness. Again and again, and the most she was getting from him was an awkward little shift.

What had she expected? The last time she’d spanked her son he’d been little enough to think the world would end for it. He’d cried over three swats back then and wanted cuddles from her to prove she still loved him. How foolish to think that things were the same now as they’d been then; that merely the thought of his angry mother would force him back onto a righteous path. She paused for a moment to think of how to dig herself out of this stand off because she’d look more the fool for having given him some meaningless pats and sent him to bed.

How did Ned manage this so much better than her? She sighed and held Robb down firmly with a hand to his back when the pause seemed to signal to him that he’d been given leave to stand once more. “I’m very disappointed.” She reminded him again and as expected, he apologized. It was an apology that began to border on the edge of insincere, however, because there was just a hint of annoyance to her eldest son’s tone. “I know, Mother. I’m sorry.” He promised, obviously exasperated with the whole thing now.

Catelyn’s own annoyance flared at hearing his tinge of testiness; he was hardly in any position to be expressing that. Oh, he thought he’d called her bluff and now he wanted to look like a man in front of Jon again. He wanted the other boy to think he’d just let her punish him out of obligation and they’d chalk it up as something to laugh about once she was gone. For as good a boy as Robb was, there were times like this that she thought he was just a touch too proud for his own good. 

It was her responsibility to make sure that didn’t become his downfall and right now she was failing miserable out of fear of hurting him. If her own hand wasn’t teaching him, she’d have to find another way. She reached for a belt discarded on the bed, doubtlessly thrown there when Jon changed out of his clothing to slip into hers. She doubled it in her hand carefully and brought the makeshift leather strap down against her son’s backside firmly enough that the sound startled her. It startled Robb even more, however, and he gave a little cry at the smack.

His hand flew backwards to feel the hot red stripe across his bottom, and he stared up at her in obvious shock. The stern expression she gave him kept any argument off his lips however, and he dropped both his gaze and his hand to allow her to continue. She kept up the belting till she saw his backside was starting to red under the application and little gasps were escaping his mouth as he tried to keep himself from crying too loudly. If he was meant to be the Lord of Winterfell, there would be worse things to deal with than a smacking from his mother, she reminded herself. She was hardly being cruel.

That didn’t mean that she didn’t stop, however, when she finally heard Robb give a sob at one of the slaps.

“Mother, please?” He asked softly. There was simply no pushing herself past that pathetic little plea and there was no need, not when he sounded so small and so sad now. He was no longer the boy who thought it funny to humiliate his bastard brother, or the little lord who thought himself far too grown to be punished by his mother. He was simply her sweet little child again, wanting to be loved and forgiven.

She let him up with a little hushing noise to soothe him and a hand to cup his warm cheek when she saw his forlorn expression. He looked quite miserable with tears still trickling down from his eyes, face damp under her fingers. There was such a heated flush to his skin that he practically looked as feverish as he felt beneath her palm. She pulled him into her arms to comfort and just as soon as she had, he grabbed onto her tightly so that he could bury his face into her shoulder to finish his cry.

The pride and posturing had entirely vanished for now and out of the corner of her eye she could see how awkwardly Jon shifted as she rocked Robb slowly. Perhaps, he didn’t know what to make of the fact that this little boy who was tearfully clinging to his mother had talked him into skirts with a mere grin and suggestion. Perhaps, he didn’t know what to make of the idea of clinging to a mother at all, when he’d never even clung to his wet nurse past the age for swaddling. Perhaps, above all else, it was nerves about what was to come, because he dropped his gaze when she finally met his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no beta so if you see a glaring typo, don't be afraid to point it out!

Catelyn took a moment to settle Robb before she advised him that he ought to pray on his behavior. The way he responded was to kneel gingerly beside the bed and drop his head so to let her realize quickly his intentions for that night were to pray to her gods and not his father’s. It moved her to think that he would pray to The Father for better judgement in his actions or perhaps The Warrior to be strong in his future convictions instead of to the unknowable gods of the North. She had no hatred for the Old Gods, but it seemed that their wildness was not known to temper a tendency for impetuousness. 

Only Jon was left to tend to now and for a brief moment, Catelyn found that she was filled with uncertainty at the thought of being the one to punish him. The boy wasn’t her own, no more than Theon Greyjoy was. Perhaps, even less than the Ironborn ward who had taken so long ago to showing affection by bringing her a particularly lovely flower back from every hunt in exchange for a word or two of praise. Theon, as a child, she had given his fair share of scoldings for his proclivity for bullying the servant’s children and she’d even wiped a hidden tear or two away when he longed for his own mother. Little doe eyed Jon, though, she had always been happier to hand off to whatever septa would take him when it came to mothering. 

That night, though, she could hand him off to no one because if she were to wait for Ned then she’d be forced to explain the entire fiasco to him. No, she didn’t have the option that she’d always had before, of giving Jon to someone who cared for him so much more than she could allow herself to. It was all on her to be his parent, for once, so she put on her best look of disapproval. She couldn’t risk daring to show him how queer she felt the thought of being charged with his discipline. He was a wolf cub, after all, even if he was the runt of the litter and wolves fed at the first sign of weakness.

“Come here.” Catelyn bid him firmly, one hand held out.

Jon didn’t dawdle as Robb had. He simply didn’t come to her at all, dark eyes staring at the offered hand in complete silence. She found that he was exceptionally hard to read, because his gaze always seemed so very morose no matter the occasion and there was always a bit of a pout on his full lips. He was cold in his eyes like his father and there was something so feral to his beauty, something just a little bit wild to his posture even when he hung back in the shadows as if he simply wasn’t meant for proper society. An obvious Stark even without the name.

Catelyn rose to her feet to fetch the boy since he refused to obey the order; she wouldn’t find herself raising her voice with him like a weary mother with too many children. If he wouldn’t come out of choice, she would bring him to her like he was a little boy that was too frightened of her hand. That would take any sort of pride out of the little act of defiance. She reached out to take his wrist so this could be hurried along and found that he was cold under her hand. Whether it was from the ice in his veins or simply the chill of the evening, she didn’t know.

“I expect that you come when you’re called, Jon.” She scolded, tone firmer than she even felt. She couldn’t truly expect him to come eagerly to a hand that had never been offered before. She swatted his backside twice through the skirts as if he were one of the younger children being petulant and not a nearly grown man. He inhaled just a bit at the well padded smacks and it seemed as if he were still shocked to be spanked even after having watched Robb’s punishment. He dropped his gaze to the floor and answered in that terrible tone of misery that he so often had when he was forced to interact with her. That tone that reminded her how he must have thought of her as so cruel and so distant like the wicked stepmother of some fairy tale. 

“Yes, my lady.” He had forced out, and his voice was already tight with shame.

When Catelyn seated herself on the bed once more, she noted that a blush had already worked its way over Jon’s cheeks when he moved to lower himself over her lap. It was such an awkward motion like he wasn’t entirely sure that he was meant to do so for fear of being too bold. Had she really treated him so callously that even to be bent over her lap seemed too much to ask? How did he always manage to find more salt to rub in her wounds? She would think for just a moment that she could feel no worse about him, but somehow he always found a way to prove her endlessly wrong.

Catelyn raised the soft grey skirts and crisp white petticoats once Jon was in the proper position, and pushed aside the guilt that she chose to do nothing to ease the boy’s obvious trepidation. He was the one all gussied up in her gown, after all, backside perfectly framed by the layers of lace and fabric. She couldn’t help but find her mind drifting to beautiful Ashara Dayne when she gazed upon him, for not the first time. She picked up his belt once more with rediscovered frustration and brought it smartly across the bastard’s backside, leaving a hot red mark in its wake. She couldn’t lie to herself that the slap satisfied more the want to punish his manner of birth than his part in his own emasculation.

Jon gasped just so slightly and his shoulders turned in, hands balling into fists against the ground when she let a second slap land against his upturned backside. It wasn’t fair to whip the son for the mother’s failings and she knew that so she had to think of anything but the pretty, romantic, frozen in tragic perfection lady-in-waiting that had captured Ned’s eyes. He may not have known the first few slaps had been meant far more for circumstances than they were for him, but in her own heart she knew that those two hot stripes across him had been for the unforgettable humiliation of walking into her new home and hearing his soft cooing in his wet nurses’ arms. 

Catelyn forbid herself as best she could to think further on that, no matter how the cruelest part of her mind longed to repay the pain.

The creamy skin of his backside turned pink quickly under the belt and soon enough Jon couldn’t help but squirm in the sea of fabric. It made him look even more girlish, she noted, with the way his dark curls grew mussed and his cheeks flushed a rosy hue. This poor child was who she dreaded encountering each day? There was a gentle movement to his hips from how instinct made him attempt to avoid the blows but duty forced him to steady himself for the blows. How terrible that such a blameless action as his squirming made her think only of the vulgar things his mother must have done and worse how wanton the thought made every innocent whine that escaped him appear.

Catelyn should not have been doing this; she was not strong enough of character to see him like this nor pure enough of heart to remove him from the manner of his conception.

Jon didn’t want to cry, even more than his brother, Jon didn’t want to cry because Lady Stark was such a distant figure to him. He didn’t want to be ashamed in front of her, didn’t want her to strip away his dignity, because part of him must not have believed he would ever have it back. It made the whimpering all the more pathetic when he finally couldn’t hold it in and his shoulders shook with his tears. He was fighting them even as they had already fallen, and Catelyn chose to take that as the signal that he was well and truly repentant. It wouldn’t have mattered if she were wrong; she couldn’t have forced herself to carry on with this any longer. 

She helped him up, steadying him with a hand when he had trouble finding his footing beneath the long skirts. Tears had clung to his thick lashes and his bottom lip looked as if he had bitten down hard enough to near split it. She could see just the tiniest hint of where his teeth had dug into it, leaving a raw mark in their wake. His voice trembled when he forced out a final apology, morose as he always was when speaking to her. “Forgive me, my lady.” He mumbled, and his hand quickly rose to try to scrub away the evidence that he had cried over the punishment.

And what was she meant to do then? She barely had time to realize the dilemma before the problem solved itself.

Robb was on his feet just as quickly as the words had been said and he wrapped his arms around his brother tightly, almost exactly as his mother had done to him just moments before. Jon let down any pretense of reserve in his arms and relaxed easily into the embrace for how close they were to each other. Robb said something and it was so low and so private that she nearly wouldn’t have caught it had his pitch not been so desperate as to unexpectedly raise his voice. “I’m sorry, Jon, I’m sorry.” He swore to him.

Catelyn hardly wanted to interrupt the apology. She chose just to stand and put a hand on her son’s shoulder to catch his attention only long enough that she could leave them to their commiseration. “To bed.” She ordered them, before turning and making her way out of the bedroom. Ned would be dealing with them from then on, she decided, because she hadn't the heart to ever repeat the evening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~**~This chapter contains incest. If this is not your interest, please skip this chapter!~**~
> 
> This chapter is also unbetaed, but it's been sitting in my folders for too long so I've made the terrible choice to stop editing it and simply post. If you notice any flaws, feel free to point them out! I won't take it badly.

Robb was silent while he helped Jon out of the dress, carefully unlacing the bodice and then helping him slip out of the sea of skirts. There simply wasn’t more to say than what had already been said, not that it stopped him from repeating himself again when he saw his brother’s reddened backside. He had looked terribly dismayed, and his hand had come out to rub carefully against the heated skin, trying to help him soothe away some of the lingering sting. “I’m so sorry, Jon.” He had repeated.

Jon hadn’t said anything at the time, just let Robb continue his apologies and desperate attempts to make amends. He wasn’t used to feeling as if he had done something unlovable, because there’d rarely been a worse wrong committed in his life than throwing a snowball at Ser Rodrick or ruining Sansa’s games by clumsily crushing the flower crown he’d been meant to crown her with. Everyone always forgave Robb immediately because how could they not? He was everything that he was meant to be; charming, funny, handsome and never cruel with those blessings.

Jon would have liked to be furious with him. He wanted to be livid with his sibling for having put him in this stupid position for Lady Stark to hate him even more than ever before. It would have taken worse than this to be more than just upset, however, but that didn’t mean that Robb knew he was already mostly forgiven. Jon stayed silent just to keep the illusion going and tugged on his nightshirt. It was mean but it felt so satisfying to know that for a moment he had so much power that doubt ate at Robb; a little forlorn sigh escaping him when he was ignored. Finally the little lord tugged on his own nightshirt and crawled into bed with his half brother.

Even with that between them, Robb still snuggled close to him out of instinct with one arm wrapped around his waist and his body pressed the length of Jon’s. It was how they were used to sleeping, with Robb stuck in the middle between him and Theon, cuddled up to whichever bed partner wanted to whisper to him at the moment. That night Jon let the silence be murderous, however, till his brother could no longer take it. He had to solve everything, of course, because something was wrong and he just couldn’t handle the thought of that. 

“I really am sorry.” Robb promised again, doubtlessly sincere, but entirely meaningless.

Jon rolled over and gave the worst scowl he could manage, knowing there was just enough light from the fireplace for the other boy to pick it up. He could see the hope for reconciliation glittering in those pale blue eyes. “It was humiliating.” He informed his brother sullenly.

“I know.” Robb tried to assure, because he thought that he did. He really and truly thought he knew what it must have been like. He’d probably tried to think of scenarios that might be similar and still failed to realize none of them were.

“No, you don’t.” Jon retorted in annoyance, before trying to roll back onto his side so he could try to sleep off some of the shame of the evening. Robb stopped him, however, tugging at his arm till Jon gave in and rolled onto his back to pay attention to whatever he had left to say. 

“Then make me.” Robb suggested seriously and his tone was the perfect lordly one he’d never had to practice for. It was the voice he used on the rare occasion he wanted to win an argument with no further effort.

“You don’t mean that.” Jon grumbled at him. He just wanted to be angry and it was so hard when Robb was being perfect, noble, and considerate yet again. It would have been so much easier to stay mad if he’d just acted spoiled more often. If he’d just focused on how upset he was to have his mother punish him right now, instead of being so fervently apologetic for how he’d misused his station, it would have made things simple. But he ever made things simple.

“I do.” Robb insisted firmly, frowning at being called something close to a liar. “I mean every word I say to you, Jon Snow.”

“Fine.” Jon had snapped at him, because he could feel his own resentment growing with each sentence passed between them.

They’d both sat up from the sea of furs covering the bed, and for a moment Jon had almost backed down with only that. They’d played around before when they were younger, they’d crossed lines that they shouldn’t have, and he’d certainly left a nasty bruise or two on the heir when they’d fought together...but there was something so different about this. It was somehow closer to how Jon got too flustered now to play with Jeyne, how it had gone from playing Lord and Lady to not being able to talk to one another so very quickly. He knew make believe things had lots of power, sometimes...but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

Jon forced himself to tug Robb down over his lap while the hurt of the memory was still fresh, and the sting still lingered. It had hurt to have Lady Catelyn treat him like that; to have her punish him and know that she must have chalked it all up to the fault of his birth, to know that Robb had added yet another failing to Jon’s endless list. Robb would be forgiven, he’d always be forgiven, but Jon wouldn’t...he was probably even to blame in her eyes! 

Jon pushed the nightshirt up over the curve of his brother’s backside and simultaneously tried to push away the racing of his heart. It was hardly the first time he’d seen Robb undressed but it was so different when he was squirming to make himself comfortable over his lap. A few beautiful strawberry colored stripes marred the otherwise creamy skin of his shapely bottom, though it hardly looked as bad as the times their father was the one to punish them. It certainly didn’t look as bad as the bruises that the other boys gave him when they sparred.

“I can’t believe you cried.” Jon remarked at the thought, hand coming down to rub at his backside slowly. His skin was warm underneath his hand, smooth, with just the hint of a welt left by one particularly firm swat. Redheads showed every mark so easily...

Robb turned to glare over his shoulder at the comment, obviously more embarrassed than he’d let on at the whole thing. “You did, as well.” He pointed out to him, tone indignant. 

“Not like you.” Jon countered, delivering a hard smack to the other boy’s already sore backside that made him jump. It was oddly satisfying to be in this position, to give his gallant older brother a spanking, bare handed and over his lap like a little boy. The Stark heir letting the bastard of Winterfell do this so willingly, even asking him to...it made something in Jon’s lower stomach ache in ways it shouldn’t have. “You bawled and made your mother hold you.”

Robb inhaled sharply at the words, his cheeks flushing at the memory as much as the teasing. It must have felt natural to fall into her arms for comfort, because he’d always done so before. He was supposed to be acting like a man now, though, and he’d failed spectacularly. Jon thought he must have felt he was failing again when he began to spank him in earnest. He squirmed at it, never the less, gasping and whimpering as his skin began to change from pink to red. He even whispered a soft little “Ow” that made Jon feel very hot in places he shouldn’t have.

Jon was ashamed of it but there was something so powerful about watching his hand leave a mark on his brother’s skin or feeling him arch up under his hand. All of the squirming had even left a nice warm tingle in the pit of his stomach that he knew all too well was arousal. He was beginning to grow scared of being caught when he’d felt the hard press of the other boy’s cock against his thigh. He could hear Robb’s panting loudly in the room, because he’d grown very still himself. He held his breath and used all his bravery to slip his hand down towards Robb’s mouth, wondering if he was going too far. They’d fooled around before, but never further than a kiss or an interested touch in the pools.

Yet Robb’s lips parted eagerly and he took Jon’s fingers into his mouth with a low moan of pleasure. He must have understood what that meant from all of Theon’s tales of debauchery, because he was trembling now. He sucked on the digits for a moment, though he was too inexperienced to manage to make them very damp. That only made it all the more intriguing for Jon, however, to try to work a finger into his brother’s backside experimentally. His own breathing had sped as he did, because there couldn’t have been anything more embarrassing than being touched like that and it was making him ache with desire to do so.

The spit proved insufficient lube and so Jon had to twist the finger to manage, shoving it a bit too roughly. The motion prompted a whimpering cry from Robb and his hips jerked forward Jon’s thigh to try to slow down the exploration. His arousal hadn’t waned in the slightest even for the way he cringed. There must have been something equally as intriguing to Robb about this switch of their usual dynamics, because his lips had parted wordlessly and his breathing was shallow. “You’re so warm.” Jon told him dumbly, because he was so very warm inside.

“It hurts.” Robb had mumbled and he gripped the blankets tightly, but at the same time pushed his backside out in offering. His whole body was trembling with some unique mix of discomfort and arousal and the way he seemed to have gone weak amazed Jon. Suddenly nothing seemed so important as to continue, and make it hurt less...or hurt better. Jon leaned forward slightly and spat down onto his fingers as he tried to add a second, spitting again as he worked it in. That made it easier than the first one had been...that or the way that Robb seemed to have forgotten how to speak. Instead, he was just whimpering and Jon felt heady from the power; he was making the perfect little lord into a messy trembling wreck.

Robb’s eyes closed and he rubbed against the other boy’s thigh. Jon took that as a sign to continue. He worked the fingers in and out slowly, enjoying each and every whine till Robb gave a soft little cry suddenly. Hot dampness covered his lap. He’d come from how badly...how cheaply Jon had treated him. It seemed near impossible, yet not a moment passed for Robb to catch his breath before he’d righted himself and reached down to take Jon’s cock in his palm. He touched him as he liked to touch himself, familiar as any boy was with the motions. He held him too firmly and let his thumb caress the tip of his cock rougher than Jon preferred, making him hiss half in pain at the touch. Still it was so very good for it and it wasn’t long before he came.

Jon sunk down into the blankets to catch his breath, trying desperately to wrap his mind around what they had just done. He didn’t manage to really think about it, because instead he noticed that Robb had brought a hand to his mouth and was tasting his brother’s seed. His expression was oddly contemplative and he almost looked startled to be caught when Jon gasped at the sight. “Gods.” He had whispered. Robb had grabbed for a shirt to clean away their mess hurriedly, embarrassed to be caught doing something so improper.

“Do you forgive me?” He had demanded once the cleanup was finished. He was still holding the shirt in his hand, too desperate to be loved once more to wait any longer than he already had. He was flushed, with tear stung eyes, a bit of cum dried by his mouth and red curls mussed and tangled. He looked wild, terrible, and terrific. There was nothing Jon wanted more than to hold him, promise everything would always be alright, and then kiss his lips like he was the shy little maiden from all of those songs instead of the dashing knight.

“Yes. By the gods, yes.” Jon had promised and that pleased Robb enough to settle the matter. He’d tossed the shirt to the floor and pushed his way into Jon’s arms. He lay his head against his brother’s chest and sighed contently as he’d closed his eyes. Everything was alright again and so he was happy. In fact, he seemed so entirely pleased that for a moment, Jon felt oddly as if he’d lost the bet all over again. How was it, with his backside red and splotchy backside and all those tears, that Robb seemed to have still been the one to come out on top?


End file.
